Let Your Heart Hold Fast
by Violetcarson
Summary: Professional firefighter Dean Winchester has spent his life saving people from the tragedy that stole his mother. When he's critically injured during a failed rescue mission he loses all hope, until he meets Air Force pilot Castiel and his daughter. This is the story of two broken men, a little girl trying to find a family, and one rescued puppy who helped them all along the way.
1. Prologue: Let Your Heart Hold Fast

A/N: So this is my first fic in several years, and it's in a completely different fandom than I'm used to writing in. We'll see how it goes.

Crossposted on AO3

I am not a firefighter, though I took an intro firefighting course as part of my emergency services class sophomore year of high school, which was 4 years ago, so I don't remember jack. My portrayal of the Incident Command System at a fire and the actions ordered therein is based off my internet research and that one class 4 years ago, and if anyone with more intimate experience of firefighting would like to share feedback, please let me know. My knowledge of emergency services is almost entirely from SAR and my EMS certification.

Beta'd by the delightful Beanmom. MANY THANKS.

* * *

Prologue: Let Your Heart Hold Fast

_To believe I walk alone_

_Is a lie that I've been told_

_So let your heart hold fast_

_For this soon shall pass_

_Like the high tide takes the sand_

* * *

The call came in at 0115 hours the morning of February 2nd – Groundhog Day.

"10-24 Structural fire 1197 Harrison corner with 26, station 9 requesting additional units, station 7 to respond. Repeat 10-24 apartment complex corner of Harrison and 26."

"10-4 Dispatch, e.t.a. 8 minutes."

Dean pounded out of the living quarters surrounded by the rest of the crew on shift, the alarm tone wailing throughout the bay. As they jogged to their positions, the loudspeaker blared commands: "—Engine 23, Engine 31, Truck 3, Ambulance 2, Ladder 1, respond to fire at…"

Dean pulled open the door of Truck 3 and began pulling on his gear, starting with the heavy canvas pants. He was finished with the coat in less than 60 seconds (it was part of their yearly reevaluation) and vaulted into the driver's seat, starting her up and smacking the lightbar on. The truck rumbled to life, deep vibrations beneath his seat. The cycling lights bathed the street with alternating sweeps of red and white as the garage door in front of the rig opened. Benny hauled himself into the seat next to him.

To their left, the ladder truck was already pulling out. In front of it, Andy, guide lights and reflective suit shining, blocked the flow of traffic while they pulled onto the street. The ladder's sirens started wailing as it pulled away, and Dean shifted into gear in preparation to follow. Eliot and Patrick swung into the rear of the truck, buckling themselves in. Dean glanced back, making sure that everyone was in position.

Benny had been checking controls on the dash, but he paused for a moment to shoot Dean a wide smile. "You ready, brother?" he asked, fiddling with his radio.

Dean shot him the cocky grin that had been getting him into trouble with the fire chief during their poker game twenty minutes ago. "Damn straight. Let's go kick some ass and save some people."

Benny slapped his shoulder and drawled into his radio, "Dispatch, this is station 7. All units en route."

Andy waved them up and Dean set the siren to screaming as they pulled out, onto 19th and then immediately right on Folsom. The rig barreled down the street, past the empty four-story high school which always creeped Dean out in the middle of the night, and past an equally empty-looking line of townhouses. A small blue sedan tried valiantly to beat the truck to the intersection and he dodged it, muttering under his breath about asshole civilians. He listened vaguely to the information being relayed by dispatch on the radio in Benny's hand as he turned yet again, pulling onto Harrison.

The fire was visible from two blocks away, the blaze lighting up the night sky. There was a disgustingly cheery house exposed to the left of the apartment complex, painted bright white with revolting teal shutters, that looked like it might go up next if they didn't get the fire contained. And really, Dean thought to himself as he pulled up behind a line of other emergency vehicles across the street from the fire, that thing getting a bit singed and needing a different paint job might not be a bad thing.

The apartment complex itself had visible flames along a line of windows on the left half on the second floor, with smoke billowing out in dark curls everywhere. Streams of smoke ran across the moon constantly, making the crescent filter in and out of view.

Dean cut the sirens as he parked, and he hopped out the door while the other guys finished with their gear and began prepping for entry. He looked around through the chaos of flashing lights and incoherent shouts to find his chief. Henrickson was standing by the fence of a dark park, conferring with another man who Dean assumed was the IC. Dean jogged up and stopped to wait beside several other company officers. Henrickson finished his conversation and turned to them, the frown on his face lit by the fire behind them.

"Alright listen up. We've got three stories. The first engine was on-scene fast enough that we're playing this offensively. They've got two engine companies attacking from the outside and a ladder preparing to ventilate the roof. The initial evac wasn't conclusive and there's a truck company sweeping the first floor now with a handline. Kate, Eli, you're to assist in containment. The second to third floor stairwell has been compromised. Tracy's company is going in on the ladder with a handline to sweep the third floor. The structure is sound and should hold for as long as it takes to make the sweep. Dean, your company is going in on the second, using the stairwell in the front entrance, as soon as their company finishes its sweep of the first floor. We're thinking the source is near the rear of the building on the second floor. Locate it if you can, otherwise make sure it's empty and get out. Don't pull anything crazy, don't get cocky. Get in, get out, keep your men safe."

"Affirmative, sir." Dean and the other officers began to move off, Tracy already on her radio relaying instructions to her team. Dean passed by the group of gawkers being cordoned off by police.

"Dean! Dean!" someone shouted, and Dean whipped around. A familiar face towered over the other bystanders, waving frantically. Sam looked like he'd rolled out of his bed directly into his car, with his stupidly long hair sticking up on one side and his shirt half tucked into his jeans.

Dean jogged over, glancing at Henrickson. "Sammy, I don't have time, my company's about to move in. What are you doing here?"

Sam looked frantic. "Dean, shit, it's Meg. Ruby's friend, Meg Masters? She brought her daughter to our house a few hours ago. She does that sometimes, the girl is Ruby's goddaughter. Dean this is where she lives. She lives on the second floor, and she's not out here. She's got to be inside still."

"Son of a _bitch_," Dean swore. "And you're sure she's here?"

Sam nodded, eyes wild. "Yeah, definitely. Ruby called her about three hours ago. I came when I heard the address on the police scanner."

Dean set his jaw firmly. "We'll get her Sam, don't worry."

He began to turn away but Sam grabbed his arm. "Dean, Meg is – Meg used to be into some pretty hardcore shit. She's been clean lately, but there's a chance she was using."

Dean closed his eyes and heaved a breath before turning away, pulling his radio off his belt. "All units, possible 10-43, overdose victim located on second floor. Requesting ALS to standby. Truck 3 company prepare for entry and rescue operations."

"Captain Winchester, weather conditions are deteriorating. The fire is advancing in Division 3. Return your company to exterior for defensive actions."

"10-4, just as soon as I save these people," he growled and dropped the radio. Benny was aiming the handline in a wide stream at the flame that was licking over the walls around them. Dean bent to check the man on the floor in front of him. There was no way to check his vitals in full gear, but he held steady, hands cupped around the space between the man's mouth and his helmet. He paused, held very still, and waited.

The glass fogged.

"We got a breather!" Dean yelled into his radio. "Unconscious patient, no signs of trauma, outbound." He switched his focus to Benny. "Lafitte, you're to remove this man. I'm going to check those last two rooms."

"Dean, we need to get out—"

Dean cut him off. "I am your Captain, and this is an order. Get out and get this man out. Do it."

Dean couldn't see his face through the thickening smoke, but Benny hesitated, looking like he was about to argue. Dean stood, powered down the handline, and jerked it from his grasp. "Get him out of here, Benny," he snarled, and moved forward, turning the handline back on.

He didn't look back, but he heard Henrickson cursing on his radio. Eliot and Patrick had already left the building, carrying a vic with a cervical collar and backboard. The woman had apparently fallen down the stairwell in her panic to escape, and stabilizing her had cost them minutes they didn't have – minutes during which the semi-orderly assault on the midsized fire had fallen to pieces. Dean didn't know if it was mismanagement on the part of the IC or just the typical shitty luck that could happen with even the most contained blaze, but this building was about to become a deathtrap.

He paced up the hallway, past walls which had been light green, with a floral wallpaper border, but were now stained all over with streaks of gray. Patches of flame licked across the ceiling and he turned the handline on the flame as he passed. The carpet under his heavy boots crackled in long strips where it was singed. "Meg, Meg Masters," he called as he went. "This is the fire department. Is there anyone still in here? Is Meg Masters here?"

There were two apartments left, one on either side of the crumbling hallway. He paused just long enough to look them both over, then went with his gut and took the left.

The door was unlocked so he pulled the latch and stepped back before kicking it fully open. The living room, or what was left of it, was an inferno. The drapes formed a wreath of fire around the windows and the couch in front of them made a wall of flame. An entertainment center nearby was a solid column of flickering orange. Smoke was everywhere, swirling across his vision in thick clouds, blocking his line of sight to the rest of the apartment. A door on the left wall close to the windows was open and he went for it.

As he strode across the room, aiming the handline at the mass of flame centered around the window, his boot kicked an object loose on the floor. It was a toy, a stuffed rabbit, white fur singed gray. He stepped over it and paused momentarily

His radio crackled again. "Winchester, we're sending two members of your company back in to retrieve you. Get out of there right now. The damn thing's about to collapse in the back."

He ignored the radio, instead making his way to the open door, brushing a cluster of falling embers from the strap of his SCBA as he went. He shut down the handline as he entered.

It was a bathroom, and it was almost entirely intact. An unconscious woman was slumped over the edge of the bathtub, a line of vomit trailing down the ceramic edge from her mouth.

"Son of a _bitch_!" Dean swore again. He hastily grabbed his radio as he knelt beside her. "I found the OD victim. Patient appears to be unconscious. On my way out with her now. Prepare ALS."

He dropped the radio back to his side and lifted her carefully. He sat her on the edge of the tub, leaning against the wall, and shook her gently. "Meg. Meg, can you hear me?" Her head lolled, jaw slack, hair falling forward to hide her heart-shaped face.

"Shit," he muttered, throat tight.

There was a series of sharp snaps in the ceiling, and a groan from the stressed wood. It was past time to get the hell out. He pulled her over his shoulder, reaching between her legs to grab one of her wrists in a traditional fireman's carry, and grabbed the handline. Before he stood up, he eyed the rabbit again, which had been kicked into the doorway. Before he could think about it too much, he grabbed it and stuffed it under his coat between his suspender and shirt. It burned, hot against his skin through his t-shirt, but he left it in place.

He took Meg's full weight, and staggered slightly as he exited. He kept the handline off, dragging it behind him. The glass of the windows was starting to warp, and as he watched, a spiderweb of cracks arced over the surface, loud popping noises zinging through the intervening space.

Way past time.

He jogged for the exit, moving as quickly as he could. Straining metal screeched behind him as he moved out into the hallway, ducking a section of ceiling crashing to the floor. Glass shattered inside the apartment – the window giving out – and the fire _roared_. Backdraft.

The explosion of superheated air rocked him, sending him stumbling. A massive surge of flame rushed out of the open doorway, but thank fuck, he wasn't close enough to get himself or the woman over his shoulders caught in it.

"Dean!" Benny was in front of him, at the far end of the hallway, another firefighter behind him.

He was almost to them, less than 15 feet away, when the ceiling gave. He heard it groan an instant before a beam hammered into his lower back. He collapsed forward, knocked flat, and Meg rolled off. Her body sprawled out in front of him. Pain radiated from his lower back as he began to push himself up with a groan. Benny was shouting something, and he raised his head slowly, dazed. Just as Benny reached him, stretching out a desperate hand, the inferno engulfed him. Fiery pain erupted in his right leg, and then fiery pain erupted everywhere. His vision whited out.

* * *

Castiel was eating dinner when the call came.

His hip vibrated, and he held up a hand, interrupting Gabriel's entirely exaggerated story. Gabe harrumphed. "I mean sure, whatever, banging international models totally isn't important. I can wait."

"Gabe, shut up." The caller ID was unknown, but he recognized the California area code.

"Hello?" Cas murmured into the line as he answered.

"Castiel? Cas? Oh shit, thank fucking God. I was so afraid you'd changed your number." The woman on the line sounded desperate.

"Ruby, is that you? Why are you calling? It's the middle of the night in California." Gabe stiffened, dropping the affronted look and watching Cas intently.

"Oh God, Cas, I'm sorry, but I had to call you. Fuck, it's Meg."

A cold shiver shot down his spine and he blinked, his eyelids fluttering before he squeezed them tightly shut. "Ruby. What happened?"

"There was a fire in her apartment. It's – the whole thing is gone. Meg's in the hospital, but they don't think she's gonna make it. Cas, she's dying."

Cas pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut so he couldn't see Gabe staring at him with that horrified expression. "Ruby, what about Grace? Where is she? Is she okay?"

Ruby let out a sob, then heaved deep breaths, struggling to contain herself. "Grace is fine. She was with me and Sam for the night. She's here at the hospital with us."

Cas was breathing quickly now but he held himself together, rigid in his seat. "Can you put her on the phone, please?"

"Yeah, just a minute, just a minute, she's with Sam." Ruby gasped, breath hitching, and Cas ran nervous fingers through his hair. He bit his lip, grinding his teeth in and savoring the sting, and shaded his eyes with his hand.

As Ruby handed the phone off, he heard her say, "How is he? Did the doctor—" and then…

"Daddy?" Grace's voice was timid, quavering.

Cas choked out a quick sob. "Oh Grace, yes. It's me, angel."

"Daddy!" The word drew out into a wail.

"Oh baby, shhh, I'm here, I'm here."

"No you're not, Daddy. You're not here," she sobbed.

Cas pictured her as she was now, though he'd only seen her in photographs for the last two years. Drawn tightly around herself and around the phone, messy blond curls falling into her face, those beautiful blue eyes rimmed in red.

He sighed. "No, I'm not, angel, I'm in Japan right now. But I will be. I'll come back as soon as I can, I swear."

Gabe rapped sharply on the table. Cas unshaded his eyes, glancing up at him. His usual grin was gone, and he was completely serious for possibly the first time since Cas had met him. His voice was steady. "I'll call the base, get started on checking protocol. This will count for humanitarian reassignment, I'm sure of it. We'll get you there ASAP."

Cas closed his eyes again. "Thank you Gabriel," he rasped. Gabe gripped his shoulder tightly as he stood up and passed behind him, exiting the dining room of Cas' apartment.

Grace was still sobbing on the other end of the line. "Grace, darling, can you put Ruby back on for just a minute? I need to speak with her."

Grace hiccuped and whispered, "Okay." The line rustled as she passed the phone.

"Cas? What is it?"

"Ruby, listen. If…If Meg doesn't make it, your boyfriend is a lawyer, yes? If…it's necessary, please, would you have him begin working to make sure I gain custody? I will pay whatever is necessary." He cleared his throat, but the lump in his throat refused to budge, tightening its grip. "I can't – I can't let Grace go to Meg's family. I know I gave up custody with the divorce, but there must be something we can—"

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry," she interrupted him, voice gentle. "Sam'll take care of it." She paused. "And he's actually my fiancee now." She gave a quiet, strained laugh.

"Congratulations, Ruby, that's wonderful," Cas murmured.

"Yeah, but now with this, I just don't— Cas, she's one of my bridesmaids."

Ruby had been Meg's maid of honor at their wedding 10 years ago. Cas shuddered at the memory, at the fact that Meg was dying. Fuck.

"I bet Meg is very pleased to finally return the favor."

Ruby choked on another sob. "Yeah, yeah, she's so excited about it," she said. "Here, I'll give you back to Grace."

Cas stood slowly, leaving everything half eaten in the middle of his table, and moved to the armchair in the living room. He pulled his computer off the coffee table, flipping it open to begin checking who he needed to contact about getting reassigned. It shouldn't be too much of a problem. His commission expired in May regardless. He had planned on remaining in the Air Force for another 10 years, but that wasn't going to be possible now.

"Daddy?" Grace asked again. Her voice was quieter now, tired. She'd almost cried herself out.

"Yes, Grace, I'm back. I'll stay on the phone with you until you fall asleep, alright? It's really late there, and you've probably been up for hours."

* * *

Oblivion was reluctant to let go, and consciousness dragged him back slowly. For a long while, it was just too easy to relax, and sink into the hazy warmth surrounding him. But then other noises intruded, relentless, refusing to leave him lost and drifting.

He groaned and opened his eyes to the terse, bitten-off sounds of quiet arguing. The arguing stopped as soon as he made a noise and blinked himself awake.

"Sammy?" he rasped.

A large, warm hand wrapped around his, and Dean slowly shifted his gaze away from the ceiling. "Yeah, Dean, I'm right here." Sam was next to him, perched on the edge of a hospital chair. Ruby was seated beside him, eyes tight.

Dean closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, trying to focus. "Sammy, what happened?"

Ruby stood up abruptly. "I'll go find a nurse, let them know you're awake," she said, already turning around. She stopped herself halfway out the door, and turned back to flash him a strained smile. "It's good to see you back, Deano," she added, before bolting from the room.

Sam watched her go with a frown, then turned back to Dean with a sigh. "Part of the second and third floors collapsed while you were on your way out. Benny dug you out and carried your sorry ass back down, just in time for the rest of the building to go. The doctors say you have a fractured tibia, severe bruising on your ribs, and a lower back that's misaligned, but you're alive."

Dean took several slow breaths. "What about Meg?" he asked. "Did someone get her out too? Did she make it?"

Sam closed his eyes, and looked down at his clasped hands.

Dean turned away, dropping Sam's hand. "Dammit." The word got caught in his throat, and he felt the corners of his eyes burn.

He blinked it away.

"She lasted long enough that her daughter got to say goodbye. She only regained consciousness once, for just a minute, but Grace was there. Meg couldn't talk to her, the smoke was too much, but she did wake up. You did that Dean. You got her out of there."

Dean closed his eyes. "I didn't get there fast enough. I didn't get her out in time."

"Dammit," Sam growled, "that's bullshit and you know it. Meg overdosed on coke. She'd been clean for years, and then she picked exactly the wrong night to take almost twice the amount she did when she was using regularly, and her system couldn't take it. That's just how it goes sometimes when an addict relapses after prolonged abstinence." Sam didn't say that he knew this much because he was there when she was using before. That he was beside her, thin shoulders shaking, snorting his college fund up his nose.

Sam reached out and clamped his fingers down on Dean's shoulder, his grip a vice. "The fire started in the apartment next to hers where some asshole screwed up with his gas stove, and you probably couldn't have saved her even if you hadn't stopped to save those other people. In case you don't remember, two other people are still alive because of you and your men. And even though Meg died, her daughter got to say goodbye. That's important. You are _not_ at fault here."

Dean didn't turn back. He ignored his brother's cursing and stared out the window.

On the shelf beneath it, the nurses had placed a bin with the clothes he'd been wearing when he was brought in. On top of his folded SFFD t-shirt was the rabbit toy, white fur stained gray with ash.

* * *

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	2. Chapter 1: Stubborn Love

A/N: Confession. I almost forgot about Adam.

I guess the Supernatural writers aren't the only who do that. :/

Sidenote, the song for this chapter was originally Click Click Click Click by Bishop Allen, which was the song that gave me the idea for this fic in the first place, but then I listened to Stubborn Love on repeat while writing so that happened instead. Whoops

Now, for chapter 1, alternately titled: In Which Dean Winchester Is Unfortunately Not A Slutty Bridesmaid

* * *

Chapter 1: Stubborn Love

_And I don't blame you dear _

_For running like you did all these years_

_I would do the same, you'd best believe_

_And the highway signs say we're close_

_But I don't read those things anymore_

_I never trusted my own eyes_

_So keep your head up, my love_

Dean wiped his hands off on the towel tucked into his belt as he leaned against the hood of the Subaru Outback. His hands still weren't used to the feel of grease constantly under his fingernails, the way they were in high school. Now they remembered thick canvas, layers of ash, and other people's blood.

For a moment he saw himself throwing the towel down, stomping it into the ground, and walking away without looking back.

Instead he put the towel back into his belt, exactly as it was.

He grabbed his cane from its place leaning against the Subaru and limped slowly toward the front of the garage. It was two months to the day after the fire and his leg still refuses to work properly, the damn thing. "Bobby," he called as he passed the open office door. "The Subaru is done. I'm heading home."

There was a clunk from inside followed by a stream of curses. "Goddamn piece of—Dean get in here." Dean snorted and ducked into the office.

Bobby was bent over, picking up a hideous bobble head doll off the floor. It was supposed to be a smiling cartoon panda, except only the body was under the desk. The head rolled sedately across the floor towards him and he stopped it under his boot. "Having trouble there, Bobby?"

Bobby grimaced at him. "Jo got it for me. Damn kid thinks she has a sense of humor."

"You should be grateful she didn't give you something worse, one of those little plant-pet things. Or maybe a Snuggie."

"You watch it boy, or I'll give _you_ a Snuggie. For Christmas and your birthday both. Get your sister in on it too, and make your family holidays hell," Bobby glared at him, straightening up with the decapitated panda in hand.

Dean grinned cheekily at him, the familiar banter easy to fall into. "Jo wouldn't go for it. She owes me something awesome after the tickets I gave her last year."

Bobby harrumphed. He snatched the head back out of Dean's head and set it haphazardly on top of the body. It hung off at an awkward angle, trying feebly to keep bobbling. Bobby stared down at it, hands on his desk.

"Dean," he started, and Dean's good humor faded immediately, draining away like water. "How are you doin'?"

Dean grunted noncommittally. "I'm fine Bobby."

Bobby turned his head, fixing Dean with a stare under the brim of his cap. "Dean."

Dean looked away.

Bobby sighed. "Look kid, we're worried about you. All of us. Ellen especially."

Dean studied the line of portraits on the wall. Ellen and Bobby's wedding, both Mary and John Winchester in the wedding party. Dean's, Sam's, and Jo's senior pictures. Jo in India on a trip she'd taken in college. Sam's college graduation. One of the only pictures of them with Jake, when his foster parents had let him visit for an entire summer. They'd gone up in the mountains, stayed at one of Bobby's friends' cabins in the Sierra Nevadas.

Dean in a line with a line of other smokejumpers during his training in Idaho. His friend Jake was in that one, smiling for once.

Dean turned back to Bobby, plastering on an empty grin. "You know me. I'm doing great. All this time off, only working half days, I'm just sitting around getting fat and happy, watching X-Files reruns."

"That so?" Bobby asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You better believe it."

"Well," Bobby shuffled through a pile of papers on his desk. "Since you've got all this extra time you're wasting, I've got something to keep you busy for the next ten years or so." He pulled a book out from the desk, and slapped it into Dean's hands.

Dean stared at it. "Training the Search and Rescue Dog? This is a joke right?"

Bobby shook his head. "No joke, boy."

"Dammit Bobby, what the hell are you thinking?"

Bobby glared. "I'm thinkin' you have spent your entire life trying to save everyone you possibly could and now you're convinced you can't, just because of a busted leg."

Dean started for the door. "Bobby, I'm not going to talk about this."

Bobby grabbed his shoulder, pulled him back around. "Hold it ya idgit. I ain't done talkin' yet."

"What do you want, Bobby?" Dean demanded. "What do you expect me to do? I can't even walk without a damn cane, how would I take care of a dog? Not to mention I know nothing about them. I haven't had a dog since I was nine and we were still living with my dad."

"Yeah, and you and your brother loved that mutt to within an inch of its life. In case you're having trouble remembering, I was there Dean."

"Bobby," Dean started. "I can't okay. I just—I can't. Alright? So we're done here."

"We're not done here unless you swear you'll think about it," Bobby growled. "Rufus' dog is getting real close to needing to be retired and the breeder the team uses has a bitch that just whelped. In a few weeks, they'll be ready to go."

"Whatever, I'll think about it alright? But it's not gonna happen." Dean frowned. "And when the hell did you join Rufus' Search and Rescue team anyway? I think I woulda noticed something like that."

Bobby scowled right back. "Maybe you should spend less time running away from your family then. Might notice a thing or two."

Dean tried to ignore the surge of guilt. He rubbed his neck. "Look Bobby, it's just…"

"I know Dean," Bobby's voice was still gruff, but slightly softer. More tired. "I know. Just, well, try coming around more often, alright? Ellen keeps threatening to come beat your ass till you apologize for worrying her. And I've seen more of you in the past couple weeks of having you here than I have since you moved back. Which is dumb as hell cause you live half an hour away."

Dammit. Dean _hated _it when Ellen worried about him. It always felt like a personal failure to disappoint the woman who was more his mother than anyone else.

"I guess I could swing by for dinner this weekend," he said slowly. "Tell her to chill out. And not to send Jo after me."

"That's more like it," Bobby grumbled.

"Can I leave now? Seriously, I can't take much more of this feelings shit."

"Get out of here. And take the book." He slapped it against Dean's shoulder as he spoke.

"Yeah I got it. Still not happening." He still took the book though.

"Think about it Dean," Bobby's call followed him out the office door and to the Impala.

His hand hovered over the radio as he turned her on, but he left it silent. He pulled out of the shop and onto Highway 89, pulling in behind a pair of motorcycles.

He'd never quite managed to get a grasp on just how green California. Massive leafy trees blended together at the very edges of the road, indistinguishable from the trees beside them or the tall bushes below. Then the masses of trees would give way momentarily to a thicket of redwoods, towering over everything. No matter which trees dominated thehighway, everything was layered in the endless green of late spring, dotted with flowers, colorful breaks between leaves. When he pulled onto the highway that ran along the water, he lowered his windows. The ocean-laced breeze rolled through the Impala's windows and ruffled his hair. A few people crowded on the beach that he passed, enjoying the swell breaking gently onto the sand, though the cloud cover was heavy. It was probably going to rain later.

The trees gave way to low rolling hills and then to the marshes of the preserve, and then he was in Pescadero. It was a tiny town. Like, ridiculously small, less than a thousand people. His house was another 15 minutes out along a backroad, right in the middle of the redwoods. Just about as far away as he could get without his family bitching at him. He'd picked the location deliberately when he's moved back three years ago.

Somehow, despite all that, Sam's car was parked in his driveway as he pulled up. He stayed in his seat for a moment and stared at the innocuous gray Honda. "Dammit Sam," he murmured.

Sam immediately pulled him into a hug as he walked through the door. "Get off me, Bitch." His family kept hugging him all the tim, every time he saw them almost.

"Jerk," was Sam's automatic reply. "I'm just glad to see you. It's been two weeks. What the hell, Dean?"

"Sorry, just haven't felt like company lately." Sam finally dropped the hug, but he kept a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Look Dean, if you aren't going to come over and see me, I'm just coming to see you."

"_We're_ coming to see you. God Sam. What am I, the chauffeur?" Ruby called from the living room.

"Get out of my house Ruby," Dean said as a matter of course.

"Not happening. Get the hell in here anyway, there's someone we'd like you to meet."

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, but his dumbass brother just grinned at him. He gave in and limped into the other room.

Ruby was reclining on his couch, footrest up, smirking at him. Curled into her side was a little girl, blond curls messy and falling out, with massive blue eyes that stared at him, unblinking.

"Make yourself at home, why don't ya?" Dean muttered, but walked slowly to the couch. "Hey there. I don't believe we've met."

"This is Grace," Ruby offered, tapping the girl lightly on the shoulder. "She's staying with us for a couple more weeks while before her dad gets discharged." Grace glanced back at Ruby for a moment before turning back to regard Dean with that unwavering gaze.

"So you're Meg's kid, huh?" Dean looked down, studying the pattern of the wood. He'd still been in the hospital during the funeral. Sam had said they'd had to put it off as long as possible so Meg's ex-husband could make it. "And your dad's in the military?"

The little girl didn't reply until he looked back up at her. She spoke slowly, testing each word out as it left her mouth. "Yeah. My dad's in the Air Force. But he's going to come get me soon."

Dean felt Sam there, hovering by his right shoulder. He ignored his brother and sat down in the armchair, resisting the urge to groan audibly. "My dad was a Marine, mine and Sam's. Before we were born though, so he was around when we were kids."

She tilted her head at him, staring again, and slid off the couch. It was one long continuous slide, pooling her body down to the floor, and she ended up cross legged on the wood in front of the couch. She stood up and walked slowly over to him. When she was right in front of him, she placed her tiny hands softly on his knees. With her almost directly in front of him, it was impossible to look away.

"You're the one who saved my Mommy?" she asked.

He swallowed. "Yeah," he coughed. "Yeah, I got her out."

"Thank you," she said simply, and threw her arms around his neck. It was an awkward hug, her scrawny little arms squeezing around his throat tightly. Dean was frozen at first, unsure what to do, but slowly his arms closed around her. He patted her back gingerly, and her arms tightened, making it hard to breathe. She was starting to cry a little, small hiccoughing half-sobs, and he was unable to do anything but pull her fully into his lap and hold on as she cried.

* * *

Castiel had retired from the U.S. Air Force two days ago and it was like the ground disappeared from under his feet.

Or maybe, it was like the wind beneath his wings just disappeared, and now he was plummeting in freefall.

He had no idea what he was doing any more.

"Grace, what would you like for dinner?"

The little girl shrugged, turning over the block in her hands. A half-constructed tower rose from the cream carpet in front of her, but she hadn't placed a new piece for several minutes. She set her current block in position, shifted it, and took it off again to fiddle with some more.

Castiel closed his eyes, rubbing at his temples to avoid the oncoming headache. She'd barely spoken to him all afternoon. He was trying, he really was. But he didn't know how to raise a child.

He'd seen his daughter only a handful of times since she was an infant. After the divorce, he could have fought for joint custody. But he hadn't. Maybe he just thought Grace would be better off without him, without a father who couldn't stay, who would never be there for her all the time. It was better if he wasn't there at all to disrupt her or Meg's lives. He paid more than was required for his child support and kept it to a couple phone calls, and brief visits when he was on leave.

Even if he spent the first year without his daughter, and many nights for years after, smoothing his thumb over a picture of her and swallowing his regrets down with bourbon, it was for the best.

Now he had no choice. Meg was dead, and their daughter had no one else.

God, Meg was dead. Sometimes, the thought would overtake him, and he'd sway back on his feet. The very foundations of his world seemed unstable. He shook his head. He had to focus. For his daughter's sake, he had to keep it together.

He knelt next to Grace, sliding a hand onto her shoulder. "This is excellent construction Grace. You've done a wonderful job."

She gave him a small smile, ducking her head. "Thanks."

"How would you like a grilled cheese for dinner? I believe there's some orange juice as well." He reached out slowly, carding his fingers through her messy hair, slightly ratted in the back from when she'd fallen asleep on the couch.

She nodded without looking at him, continuing to turn over her single block. "Okay."

He patted her head lightly as he rose, heading to the kitchen. He prepared the food, slicing the crusts off with precision, and bringing everything back to the living room. He'd almost never sat down for meals in a normal dining room, and going through the motions with Grace had been awkward for both of them. Grace looked up again when he sat down beside her. Before he could set the plate down she dropped the block and slid into his lap. He froze, arms awkwardly half-raised, holding the promised cup of juice and sandwich.

"Is it okay if I sit with you Daddy?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Cas's throat constricted around a sudden lump, and he closed his arms around her. "Of course, Angel." The endearment slipped off his tongue without thought. It was the only thing he'd ever called her besides her name, but that had been when she was an infant, cooing up at him from her crib.

Grace was almost finished with her sandwich when she twisted around to stare up at him. "Yes?" he asked when an explanation wasn't forthcoming.

"You forgot to make a grilled cheese for you, Daddy." She frowned at him.

Castiel's throat tightened again, and he forced a smile for her. "That's alright Grace. I'm not hungry."

She pursed her mouth, disbelieving.

The doorbell rang. Grace stood up without prompting, clutching the remainder of her sandwich and following Cas as he answered the door.

A short brunette strolled past him the moment he opened the door. "Hey Cas." She shot him a quick grin, then ignored him, and dropped to her knees before Grace. "Heya Gracie! How ya doin'?"

Grace broke out into a full-blown smile, but set down her plate and glass carefully before she threw herself forward. "Aunt Ruby!"

Castiel tried not to feel jealous. His daughter looked happier than he'd seen her since the funeral.

"Ruby, this is…a surprise. I didn't expect you so soon." Cas tried not to appear too stiff.

"Figured I'd come over and see how she was settling in. I'm just glad you decided to stay in San Francisco. Come on shortstack, don't I get a hug?"

Grace had been clutching to Ruby's biceps, apparently indecisive as to whether she should cling or not and rocking back and forth. She decided to go for it, lunging forward and throwing both skinny arms around Ruby's neck.

"Oof! That's quite a grip. Have you gotten stronger already?"

He fidgeted awkwardly for a few moments. "Would you like to sit down?"

"No, I can't stay that long. I just wanted to come by and see how Grace is. And you too, Cas. How are you doing?"

He blinked. "Fine. Of course. Everything is fine."

Ruby stood up, pulling away from Grace's hold. "Grace, how about you go put this plate and stuff away? Give me a minute to talk to your dad, okay?"

Grace glanced between them before nodding and disappearing into the kitchen.

Ruby looked him square in the eye, despite being half a foot shorter.

"Cas, I know we were only friends in college because of Meg, and it's been years since we've actually had a conversation. But that's bullshit. If I know anything about you, you've been running yourself ragged since the funeral, trying to do everything except take care of yourself." She glanced at the doorway through which Grace had disappeared and sighed. "Look. I'm getting married in a couple weeks. I know it's been awhile, and it's probably kind of strange but I want you there. And I especially want Grace to come too."

Cas stared at her. "No, I couldn't impose like that. Weddings are a time to be shared with family and close friends, a time to celebrate."

Ruby snorted. "Bullshit. Weddings are an excuse to show off to all the people you were kind of friends with in college, high school, and wherever else, and prove you've one-upped them since then. And of course, a reason for extended family members to pretend they don't hate you and each other and take lots of pictures to prove it. Did I mention the free booze?"

She glared him down, even though her eyes were on a level with his chest. "And more importantly, Cas, you are family. Grace is my goddaughter, and Sam and I both want you two around as much as possible. It's already a little lonely at our place without here." She looked into the kitchen where Grace was carefully rinsing the plate while standing on a stepstool. "And ya know what? I think I have an opening in the bridal party." Her smile was positively vicious.

She spoke again before he could do anything but stare. "Besides," she winked. "Maybe you can pick up a slutty bridesmaid."

* * *

The last Saturday in April dawned overcast and rainy, which was unusual only because this was freaking Northern California and clear skies had been predicted for this day for like years, or something.

But hey, Winchester luck was notoriously awful. Why should one of them getting married mean any different? Hoo-fricking-rah.

Dean had been lying awake for several minutes, musing over the the solid gray between trees outside his window, when Sam burst in.

"Dean! It's raining!" Dean glanced up. The overgrown girl was standing next to Dean's bed, actually wringing his hands.

"No shit." Dean pulled a pillow over his face.

Sam started pacing. "Dean, the ceremony is supposed to be outdoors. The chairs are already set up. What are we—"

Dean tuned out tirade, blindly groping for the phone on his bedside. He hit a speed dial without looking, and held the phone up to his ear.

"Dean, it's 7 a.m., _what?" _Ruby snarled.

"Have you looked outside?" he asked, and chucked the pillow on his face at Sam.

There was a brief pause. "Damn," she sighed.

"Your girlfriend is freaking out. I think he might swoon. You should come get him out of my house."

Sam glared at him. "Let me have the phone," he mouthed. Dean flipped him off.

"He'd cry if I saw him before the wedding. It was his idea to spend the week at your place, so he'd have the romantic wedding night every girl dreams of." She was shuffling through papers now.

Dean glanced at Sam in time to receive a spectacular bitchface. Dean covered the mouthpiece. "No. You lost phone privileges when you flipped your shit in my bedroom at the asscrack of dawn. Suck it." He uncovered the phone. "You're just as excited as Sam is to have your special night, hell-bitch, don't lie."

"Dean!" Sam said indignantly.

"Fuck off Winchester," Ruby grumbled.

"You're about to be one too, don't bad-mouth the name."

"Okay, I found the number for our contact at the farm. Let me talk to Sam." Only Sam and Ruby would think it was romantic to get married at a friggin' goat farm.

Dean finally passed over the phone and sank back into his pillow. He was slightly hungover from the 3rd after-bachelor-party-party he'd thrown Sam the night before, which consisted of them both getting plastered in his living room so Sam would quit worrying and trying to drunk-dial Ruby.

Sam smiled unconsciously when he lifted the phone to his ear. "Hey. Yeah, sorry. Okay, that guy definitely talked about rain options when we picked the place. Yeah, I don't think it'll be a problem." He walked out of the room scratching at the back of his neck.

"Next time call her yourself instead of waking me up!" Dean called after him. He hadn't been asleep though. He hadn't been able to sleep past dawn in probably too long. Years of repeatedly getting up at 6, or waking up in the middle of the night to leap into a truck or a helicopter had made sleep a tenuous thing.

He stared up at the boring, off-cream-whatever ceiling. He'd rather challenge Ellen to a drinking match or eat Bobby's cooking than admit it, but it was kind of nice to know that even on the day he got married as a grown-ass man, Sam still came to Dean first when something went wrong, confident his big brother would help him fix the problem. He was still basically the same little snot-nosed butt who would come into Dean's room in the middle of the night and stare at Dean like a creeper until his brother woke up to make whatever monsters were hiding in his closet go away.

There hadn't been much point in trying to sleep earlier, but now it was seriously a joke, so he got the hell out of bed. As usual, his leg twinged in protest when he first pressed it against the hardwood, but he ignored it and shifted his weight, testing out of habit to be sure it would hold up. His doctor had said he'd be allowed to not use the cane during the ceremony, and he really hoped he'd be able to limp down the aisle to stand by his brother without looking completely useless.

As he showered he mentally went through everything there was left to do. _1. Keep Sammy from freaking the fuck out and running. 2. Don't let any of the family get drunk until after 7 p.m. _That about summed it up. At least the Best Man didn't really have to do much besides stand there and look pretty.

Sam was pacing.

"Dude, you're gonna wear a hole in the carpet." Dean fidgeted with his boudinir, leaning against a cabinet covered with crayon drawings in various kindergarten skill levels. The room for the groom and his entourage was probably a nursery on every other day.

Sam shot him a glare and kept pacing.

Dean sighed and got to his feet. "Alright, come on. Let's go."

Sam stopped pacing to stare at him. "Go? Where?"

"Outside, so you can chill the fuck out." Dean grinned, and help up the flask he'd stashed inside his jacket.

Sam followed him out. He actually had to duck his stupidly tall frame to fit under the doorway. It was probably his hair, adding a couple inches with shampoo commercial volume.

They went around to the back of the main building where the wedding party had all parked. As they walked, Dean texted Jo, telling her to make sure Ruby stayed hidden inside for a few minutes.

The Impala was sitting where they'd left her, parked in a prime position, and buffed to a ridiculous shine in honor of the occasion. Some enterprising individual (probably Ash) had already painted 'Just Married' across the rear window and strung some beer cans from the bumper. Dean untied the cans with disgust but left the paint. Ash knew that he'd die a horrible death if he used anything that could remotely damage Baby and whatever, Dean _was_ supposed to drive the Happy Couple to the reception anyway.

They settled on top of the trunk, Dean with much more swearing and cursing his leg than usual, learning back against the glass.

"So," Dean said, looking straight ahead.

"So," Sam agreed.

Dean pulled out the flask and handed it over. Sam took a swallow without comment.

They were quiet for several minutes, just sitting.

"Look," Dean said, glancing over at his brother. "You'll do fine Sammy."

Sam glanced away. "But what if I don't?"

Dean scoffed. "Dude, you've been a perfectionist since preschool. You kicked ass in college, given a few snags here and there. Your fiancé, though undoubtedly evil, loves you like crazy. And you're a Winchester. You'll be fine."

Sam sighed, long and hard. "But what if I screw up? What if I—what if me and Ruby…I don't want us to end up the way we were in college

Dean glared at him. "Now listen here. You are stronger than this. You and Ruby have both been clean for 8 years. I may not have been here every day of that, but I know there is no way in hell you're going to let what happened in the past bring you down. I forgave you. Bobby, Ellen, Jo, we all did. It's about damn time you forgave yoursel," He turned away again, looking out over the hills surrounding the Pescadero goat farm. "Now shut up and drink. That's some old-ass Jameson, and you'd better appreciate it."

Sam looked at him for just a moment, before the corner of his mouth upturned and he took another swallow. "Jerk."

Dean stole the flask back from him. "Bitch."

Half an hour later Dean was standing on the other side of the compound with Ash and Adam, who had shown up with 15 minutes to spare but grinning fit to burst, waiting for the cue to walk forward. Sam had already gone out, bringing Ellen to her seat. Lisa and Jo walked into the little outbuilding they were waiting in, along with a redhead Dean didn't know, escorting a familiar little girl sporting a crazy head of curls. He grinned at Grace, and she smiled back, though she was focusing very seriously on holding her basket. Lisa strolled up to him, a complete knockout in the form-fitting red dress.

"You ready?"

"Of course." She gave him a grin.

It was only slightly awkward being paired with someone he'd slept with (several times, in a variety of imaginative positions) to escort down the aisle. It was made less awkward because two years after they broke up, he introduced her to her current girlfriend. Which had been kind of unexpected when it happened, but he wasn't exactly one to judge. Besides, both Charlie and Lisa were pretty hot, and Dean Winchester was never going to have a problem with two hot chicks making out, even if he didn't get to watch it.

The music started, and Adam and Jo strolled off, steps measured. Dean's half-brother was going for a dignified walk, but mostly looked constipated, in Dean's expert opinion. They turned a corner and disappeared out of the small garden building, heading for the greenery-strewn aisle. The second couple went, and Dean counted to twenty before moving after them. Before they turned the corner, Dean glanced back and just caught sight of Ruby walking into place alone. She was arguing with herself. Dean shot her a cocky salute and turned around before she could mime something vicious.

The ceremony was set to take place in the middle of the woodland garden hidden in the trees behind the main farm. Flowers were everywhere, strewn around the chairs, surrounding the altar, and growing on the rosebushes surrounding the dell. Some of them looked a bit waterloggged, but most of it must have been set up in the three hours since it had finally stopped raining. He had to hand it to the totally girly, hippie place Sam and Ruby had picked, they were good at their job. The audience members, less than 50 of them, were turned in their seats to watch them walk. Dean plastered on his most winning smile and guided Lisa forward. He didn't recognize most of them, just a couple mutual friends of him and Sam, and then towards the front all of their family, though very few of them blood relations. Ellen was in the front row, an empty seat next to her.

As they walked, Dean noticed one guy who looked even more awkward and out of place than the rest. He was wearing a suit, more than most of the guys there, but it was covered with the most ridiculous trench coat, unbuttoned and splayed open, that Dean had ever seen. He was one of the only people not craning their necks around to watch. When Dean passed him, seated in the 5th row, he noticed the guy was just staring down at his empty hands, resting on his knees.

They reached the front, and Dean let Lisa go to take up his position, half-facing the audience, between Adam and Sam. He bumped Adam's elbow and Adam slid one of his polished shoes onto Dean's foot, bearing down in retaliation. Ellen shot them both a glare.

Grace was coming into sight now, beginning her walk down the aisle. She was alone, the rings already safely in Dean's pocket. Ben was the only kid either Sam or Ruby knew who could have been a ringbearer, but the kid had insisted that he was too old at ten. He was now sitting in the second row next to Charlie, waving madly at Lisa and looking wistful.

The little girl was very serious as she walked, focused intently on evenly scattering the petals in her basket across the entire aisle. She only looked up once, as she passed that same awkward looking guy, smiling brilliantly at him before returning to her task. When she reached the end of the aisle, she skipped a little, unable to contain her satisfaction, and several audience members sighed or chuckled. She contained herself again and slotted herself into place standing right next to Lisa. Dean caught her eye and shot a quick grin and a wink. Grace's answering smile was enormous.

The music changed and the assemblage stood, tension wiring through the crowd. It wasn't the wedding march. Ruby had hissed when Sam even suggested it, claiming tradition. So instead it was some different old ass piece of music, probably written by a dead guy with a name 5 syllables too long. Not that hideous Pachelbel's Canon shit, at least, so Dean wouldn't make too much fun of them.

Ruby came into sight, escorted by Bobby who had apparently caught up to them in the nick of time. The old mechanic looked hilariously out of place in his just this side of too-tight tux, complete with dark red cummerbund and slicked back hair. But Ruby, Dean had to admit, looked gorgeous. Her dress wasn't the usual poofy bullshit. It was mostly formfitting, only flaring out around her knees, and showed off the curves that Dean always teased her by claiming had to be fake on such a short chick. It didn't help that she liked to lounge around in ridiculously baggy clothing (which was probably Sam's, come to think of it) and generally looked like a skinny little kid drowning in emo and oversized sweatshirts. Today though, she looked like someone who might actually be worthy of his little brother, lips a vibrant splash of fittingly ruby red. Her hair even looked nice, only partially up in one of those super painful looking bun things.

The music was loud enough that nobody else overhead Adam's whisper of "5 bucks says she trips in those heels."

Dean shoved him gently. "Dude, this is a special day for Sammy, have some respect. And you're totally on."

She didn't. She was graceful and surefooted the entire way down the aisle. And she was wearing the most ridiculous smile Dean had ever seen on her face. About a third of the way down, Dean turned to watch Sam instead. And well, if Sammy looked that ridiculously happy, happier than Dean had seen him in years, maybe this would work out.

Sam looked positively worshipful when Bobby handed Ruby off to him. Before letting go, Bobby fixed him and Ruby both with a stern glare. "You take damn good care of each other now, you hear?"

Sam swallowed sharply. "Yeah Bobby. Yeah."

Ruby smiled up at him and Bobby both. "Don't worry about a thing Pops." Bobby snorted, twitched his ever-present mustache, and turned away. Dean got just a glimpse of the sheen to his eyes as he sat down next to Ellen, who was openly tearing up already.

Pastor Jim began the ceremony, he'd flown in from Kansas for the occasion, and Dean tuned most of it out. It was the usual marriage stuff, and Sam and Ruby had written their own vows (because despite what Ruby claimed, she was just as much of a sap as Sammy).

Instead he watched the crowd, while pretending to be smiling fixedly at the couple and trying to ignore the steadily riding discomfort in his leg. His eyes roved from the musicians, the cellist was surruptitiously scratching himself, to the staff members of the farm, one older couple who looked genuinely enraptured and were both teary eyed. The guests were all basically nondescript. College friends of Sam and Ruby's. The few remaining relatives from both families. And that one man in a trenchcoat who was now watching the ceremony intently, face expressionless. He seemed to feel Dean's gaze, and looked at him with the same intensity. Their eyes locked, before Dean looked back to Sammy and Ruby to break the awkward contact. The guy looked familiar for some reason.

The ceremony was as brief as possible for a wedding, but his leg and lower back were still throbbing by the time Dean handed over the rings. He drew the moment out anyway, catching Sam's eyes for several long moments, trying to say as much as possible in his silent smile. Sam got it. Sam always got it, and his returning smile was brilliant.

When Pastor Jim finally started the "You may now kiss—" bit, Sam didn't bother waiting. Instead he drew Ruby into his arms immediately, swooping her into an outrageous dip. Dean wolf-whistled first, breaking the crowd's silence, and then there was cheering and clapping and indistinct shouting and music again. Instead of throwing rice, the guests showered the wedding party with more flower petals as they returned up the aisle, following Sam and Ruby's laughter. No formal return up the aisle today, just rampant cat-calling. One of Sam's college buddies stood up as he passed and stuffed a handful of petals down the back of his jacket. Dean was grinning as he dragged Lisa along after, despite the fact that he was limping heavily after standing so long.

Pictures were a pain in the ass that he smiled through gritted teeth through. Rather than going without, he just hid his cane behind his body in most of the shots. When it got really bad and the pain in the ass photographer fussed over their positions for what felt like an eternity, Sam would surreptitiously lean into Dean, positioning himself to take some of his weight, while Adam would quickly do the same from the other side. None of them said a word about it, just smiling. Dean tried not to feel grateful. This was Sam's day, and he should be focusing on his wife, not his brother. But he didn't pull away when it happened, just plastered on his usual grin and played the proud older brother.

The reception was held in one of the refurbished barns and was already swinging by the time they finally escaped the nutso photographer. The wedding party entered first, so everyone could start cheering for Sam and Ruby ahead of time. The entire gig was an endless stream of small talk, alcohol, and clinking of wineglasses every couple of minutes so everyone could watch Sam macking with his wife. Why that was a tradition, Dean had no friggin' clue.

He escaped a conversation with a Great Aunt from his mom's side and moved to stand next to a wall, holding a snifter of brandy. Open bars were the best part of weddings. Not that he'd actually been to that many weddings.

He only really noticed he was close to the dance floor when he was dragged onto it by Ash and Garth. They pulled him into the middle of a crowd and danced around him like the dumbasses they were. Dean tried valiantly to escape, but gave in after being hemmed in again. He danced awkwardly, still holding his glass in one hand and his cane in the other, for a whole song, but then the YMCA started and he was out of there.

He'd almost escaped back to his wall when someone tugged on his coat. "Dean? Why aren't you dancing?"

It was Grace. She looked disgustingly adorable in her frilly purple dress. Someone had pinned a bunch of flowers into her hair, and the effect was dangerous. He didn't usually go for that kind of description, but she literally looked like an angel. An angel with an evil agenda.

"Sorry, Grace, dancing's not really my thing." He grinned down at her.

"Oh," she said, soft, looking down at her sandals.

God dammit.

"Do you want me to dance with you, sweetheart?" he asked, regretting the question instantly.

"Only if you want to," she said, completely seriously.

Dean did the YMCA. And then he tried to do the Electric Slide. He gave up after Cotton-Eyed Joe, returning to the head table. Grace followed him.

He pulled the chair out next to him for her to sit down. "So Gracie, how've you been?" Sam and Ruby had brought her with them when they visited several more times after the first, but he hadn't seen her for a couple weeks.

"My daddy's home," she said, and her face broke out into a smile that should definitely be made illegal.

"Is he now? Finally made his escape then?"

She frowned. "Daddy didn't escape. He was honorably discharged." Seriously, she was too young to look so serious. And four syllable words out of a six-year-old girl was just ridiculous. Who even was this kid?

"My bad," he said, waving away the protest. "I totally didn't mean it. I'm sure your dad is perfectly, um, honorable."

"You should meet him!" She said, sitting up suddenly, looking like she'd had the greatest idea in the world. "My daddy is wonderful." She stated, like it was an absolute kid.

"Whoa kid, slow down there. I'm sure your pops is great," he said, but she interrupted him again.

"I'll be right back!" she said, and scurried off her chair. She still managed to run off with the straightest back he'd ever seen on a first grader.

"What a little weirdo," he murmured, but he was grinning. He busied himself again in his brandy and watched the dancefloor. Everyone was starting to clear off it, it must've been almost time for the first dance.

"Mr. Winchester?"

Dean looked around. It was some guy in a black suit, complete with black shirt and black tie. He also carried a cane, but he walked perfectly upright as he drifted over. His accent was obviously British. He looked…smarmy.

"Yeah, I'm Dean," he said gruffly.

The man held out a hand. "The name's Crowley. Robert Singer said you're looking to buy."

Dean stared at him, uncomprehending.

The man sighed. "I'm a dog breeder, mate. German Shepherds, Belgian Malinois. Working animals."

Dean groaned. "Look, I know I told Bobby I'd think about it, but it's not going to happen. I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to find someone else."

Crowley smiled at him. It wasn't a particularly pleasant smile. "Well, emergency services get their pick of the litters, but these pups officially go on the market after next weekend. You have until then to change your mind. Take my card. I think you'll be needing it."

Dean doubted it, but he took the card anyway so the guy would leave. He looked at it. It was emblazoned with a logo that had altogether too many curly bits. "'Fergus Crowley: Canine Supplier and Consultant.' What the hell does that mean?" He stuffed the card into his pocket and took an angry sip of brandy.

The slow strains of a guitar and cello drifted out of the DJ's speakers, and Sam and Ruby swept onto the floor, hand in hand. They looked good.

"Excuse me," began a new voice, startling in its gravel.

"Oh my God, what?" Dean snapped as he turned around. Why the fuck couldn't people leave him alone?

It was Trenchcoat Guy. Up close, his hair was just bordering on too messy to be socially acceptable and he had eyes so blue he felt like they were x-raying him. He looked affronted by Dean's response, lips tight and scowl in place.

"I'm sorry to have apparently offended you so badly. Grace told me to come talk to you." How did voices get that deep, seriously?

"Oh shit, you're Castiel. Look man, I'm sorry. I didn't recognize you." Dean had known he looked familiar. "Here, sit down."

Castiel sat in the chair Grace had vacated. "It has been several years, yes. And the circumstances of our original meeting were not ideal." He wasn't frowning as heavily, but was still staring at Dean with those x-ray eyes. He shifted slightly, a brief show of awkwardness.

"No, not…ideal." Castiel had been the one who found Sam's phone after the accident his freshman year of college. It wasn't exactly the way to meet someone, outside your brother's hospital room because he'd been so high on so much shit that he'd walked into traffic nearly naked in the middle of winter. Sam had very nearly been kicked out of school. It had been sheer luck he'd graduated at all after how fucked up he'd been that second semester. Dean had been so damn terrified and angry that he barely remembered meeting Castiel. The whole thing was a blur of rage.

It was really soon after that that he'd moved to Idaho.

They stared at each other in silence for several moments. It took Dean forever to look away. It felt like those blue eyes were stabbing into him, holding him in place and refusing to let him go.

Castiel broke the silence. "Grace seemed very intent that I should meet you. I believe she visited you several times while she was living with Sam and Ruby?"

Dean finally looked away, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah. Yeah, they brought her down to my place a couple times. She's a really great kid."

"Yes, she is," the other man said simply.

They lapsed into silence again. Dean tried not to fidget, but his leg was aching, and he rubbed it stubbornly.

On the dance floor, Sam and Ruby were wrapped around each other, no longer trying to move very much, just swaying back and forth.

"Forgive me, again, but I also…I also think you were the firefighter who answered the call that night? You got Meg out?"

Jesus Fuck.

"Yeah," Dean said, but it came out more of a whisper. "Yeah, I tried to get her out."

He glanced back again, and Cas was watching him again, head tilted slightly. The movement was familiar, and he suddenly knew exactly where Grace got it.

"You said tried. That is incorrect. You, and the crew you led, succeeded in removing her from the building. Along with several others, I was told."

Shit. He couldn't deal with this. He couldn't. "Yeah, I mean, I tried to get her and everyone else out in time. But I wasn't fast enough."

"Dean, the doctors informed me that she would have been unlikely to have survived unless she was brought in well before the fire even started. You did all that you possibly could, and by all accounts, more than could be expected, very nearly sacrificing yourself." His voice was calm.

Dean wanted to scream. He wanted this man to scream. He wanted him to tear into Dean, rip into him with bloody words, leave him in tattered pieces. He was wrong.

"You don't think you deserved to make it out of there," Cas said suddenly, and Dean whipped his head up to stare at him. "You don't think you deserved to be saved that night. Why is that?"

Dean couldn't answer him, and he felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. For a moment he couldn't remember how to breathe.

"Daddy, what are you and Dean talking about?" The moment shattered, and suddenly Dean could breathe again. Cas looked stunned also, and shook his head before turning to Grace, who was standing by his knee.

"We were discussing Dean's job as a firefighter Grace." Cas said carefully, with a glance to Dean.

"Well, old job. Can't exactly do that anymore." Dean cleared his throat.

Grace frowned at him, worried. "What are you going to do now?"

"Well I, I've been working at my…dad's autoshop. And he's trying to get me to go get a dog. Wants me to train it for search and rescue or something."

Cas looked interested. "I was able to work with several experienced SAR teams in my previous job. It's a wonderful service that they perform."

Dean laughed awkwardly. "But I mean, I don't know the first thing about dogs. It just doesn't seem like it'd be fair to the dog."

Grace shook her head. "No, dogs are easy. Mommy and I had a puppy for a while, but he ran away. But he was a really good dog. A really, really good one."

"Indeed," Cas said. "Training dogs or any other animals simply requires patience. But the rewards are great. I have seen the kind of good search dogs can do.

"I guess, maybe I could…" Dean trailed off, feeling slightly desperate. Topic change pronto.

"I'll come with you, and make sure you pick out a good one," Grace volunteered.

Both Dean and Cas stared at her.

"Is that so?" Dean choked out.

She nodded emphatically. "Yes. Daddy can take me."

Dean stared at Cas, semi-frantic.

Cas nodded slowly. "I…suppose. Yes, that could be arranged. Perhaps I could also provide some…assistance. I did do some work with military trained dogs, after all."

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Dean cleared his throat. "Um, sure, I guess." He ran a couple hands through his hair. He was breathing too fast and his heart was pounding. What the hell was he doing?

"Does Tuesday work for you?"

* * *

Follow me on tumblr at clearancecreedwatersurvival. Next update next week sometime, I'm going slower than I'd like because I'm fostering a couple rescued pups and they're a really adorable pain in the butt.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!


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